


We gotta have it, We have no control

by evieoh



Series: Do You Feel It? [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn With Very Little Plot, Season 3 AU, Smut, Snark, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 01:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieoh/pseuds/evieoh
Summary: She gets the most absurd urge to laugh at the absolute insanity of their situation. She is trapped, for all intents and purposes surrounded, making out in a closet with the bad boy. It's like some kind of warped secret agent version of Seven Minutes in Heaven.(in an AU season 3 Skye and Ward bang in a storage room)





	We gotta have it, We have no control

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, my previous account was hacked and all my fics deleted, so I am reuploading them all now. This fic was originally posted in January 2015.
> 
> Thanks to serenity-sea for finding out how Skye's pants come off for me. And stargazerdaisy for pointing out that I had forgotten to take off Ward's - and for just being the most amazing beta reader to walk the earth.
> 
> Title from Chaos Chaos.

* * *

It's been an hour.  
They have been stuck in this godforsaken tiny, pitch dark room for an hour.

They are trapped in a building full of enemy agents, whom they hope don't suddenly decide to check the maintenance closets for enemy spies who may have been on recon missions when they stumbled upon each other and may have momentarily forgotten about the whole 'stealth' aspect of recon and suddenly needed somewhere close and easy to hide. Unfortunately this means they are currently stuck in a closet that can't be bigger than six by 10 feet. (There is not exactly a lot of room to avoid your ex-almost/nemesis/whatever the hell they are in that space)

* * *

"So, Skye -"  
"It's Daisy."

(She wants it to sound firm, aloof, but she's pretty sure she sounds like a petulant child and she swears she can feel him smirking from across the room)

* * *

Two hours in and her eyes have adjusted to the gloom as much as they are probably going to, Ward is still nothing but a slighter darker shadow against the darkness that engulfs them.  
She is aware of every slight shift he makes from where he sits, leaning against the wall opposite her, deceptively casual. She tracks his movement by the slightest glint of reflection off his eyes. She has always been so aware of his presence, she would like to believe it's because it's smart. She's trapped in a room with the enemy, she knows how good he is, how easily he could kill her if he wanted to. But she's not fooling anyone (least of all herself).

Their comms are both down, this deep into the base there is way too much interference to hope for any kind of signal. She knows it will be at least another eight hours before her absence is noted and a team assembled to extract her. She is hoping to be out of here long before then, the idea of the team having to mount a rescue mission just because she couldn't pull herself together at the appearance of Grant Ward is not something she wants to dwell on.

She hasn't spent longer than 10 minutes in his presence since the day she confronted him with her knowledge of his true loyalties, and she can feel her anger start to rise as they sit in silence.

She wants to rage and scream and hit him and ask him, "Why?!" Why couldn't the team have been enough? (Why couldn't she have been enough?) Why did he stay with Garrett and betray them all?

But she can’t find it in herself to lash out at him. The old anger has dimmed in the last year. Everything that happened with her mother, with her father, with the catastrophe that her life became, has made her realize how easy it is to be deceived. To follow someone blindly. To believe in the wrong person and the price that belief can demand.

She understands.

And in some ways it only makes her hate him more. Because she can't truly hate him any longer, not when she can see how easily she could have gone down the same path.

* * *

"We could play I Spy."  
(This is met with an eye-roll so severe it is almost audible in the total darkness as she pauses in her pacing to give him an unimpressed glare that she knows he can't see. She tries so hard not to think of board games and in-jokes and the warmth that would bloom in her chest whenever she managed to drag a true smile from him)

* * *

By the fourth hour... She doesn't even know how it happened, who moved and who leaned in and how it started, but by the fourth hour she is pressed against the wall, his weight firm against her and his mouth moving against hers. The feel of him, the taste of him is so familiar in a way that makes her chest ache.  
In the dark she loses herself in the sensation of his mouth on hers, his fingers in her hair. In the absence of sight sense memory takes over and for a moment she is back in Providence, for just a moment everything is perfect. But then reality comes crashing back in and she bites hard on his lip as she pulls him more roughly against her. Anything to take away that edge of sweetness, that feeling like this is something more than it is, that anything that happens here will exist outside this room.

 

He falls back on his heels so his back is against the wall now, pulling her with him so her hips fit more firmly against his, grinding her against the growing bulge in his jeans, the friction doing little to ease the wanting ache that is encompassing her body.

One of her hands is gripping his shoulder, the other is clenched in his hair. Licking into his mouth, groaning at the feel of his teeth lightly tugging her lip, the rush of the heat building between them blocking out everything else but him.

 

She can feel him hesitating. He clearly wants her, wants more, but he can't seem to stop waiting for her to take it further. So she takes his hand, discarding her belt to make his access beneath the top part of her uniform easier, sliding his fingers against her stomach and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He seems to gain more confidence at her action, slipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of her pants. His fingers are fumbling for something but she doesn't figure it out until he mutters in a frustrated tone,

"How the fuck do these things come off?"

She snorts lightly as she reaches behind herself to undo the zip at the back of her pants and he is immediately shoving them down far enough to wedge his hand between them, the angle is awkward but he doesn't seem to care, sliding further into her underwear as he seeks out his goal. She bites back a moan as his first finger enters her, quickly joined by a second as he adjusts their position so the angle is little better, his fingers curling and hitting her G-spot with every pass. She can't keep from grinding her hips down on his hand as she bites down on the junction of his neck and shoulder to keep from making any more noise. She can feel his grin against her hair and she kind of wants to smack him for his smugness but she can't do anything but ride out the wave of sensations he is wringing from her.

She can feel her orgasm building, feels the heat growing and spreading through her body, unable to stop the little whimpers that escape her even as she tries to smother them against his shoulder. He shifts his hand to press his thumb against her clit and it sends her over the edge, color flaring bright at the edges of her vision as she falls.

 

Slowly, she comes back to her body; to the feel of him stroking her hair as the aftershocks spark their way across her body, his forehead resting against her shoulder, both of them breathing hard as though they've just run a marathon.

She feels boneless, held up only by his arm firmly banded around her lower back, holding her in place.

 

She gets the most absurd urge to laugh at the absolute insanity of their situation. She is trapped, for all intents and purposes surrounded, making out in a closet with the bad boy. It's like some kind of warped secret agent version of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

She knows this is something she should be having second thoughts about (and probably will, once she returns the world that exists outside this room.) But right now the darkness cocoons them and it feels like, just for now, just for a moment, they can have this; this little break from real life and guns and spies and everything being awful.

Here, in this room, they can just be, without the baggage that their real lives and roles carry.

There is something about it that reminds her of ancient pagan festivals, of masked lovers, of the freedom that anonymity can bring.

Here they don't have to be SHIELD and Hydra, there is no betrayal or hearts broken. Here there is only the feel of stubble grazing her neck, his teeth on her collarbone, his breath on her skin feeling like a prayer.

His fingers dragging down her zip of her jacket, his mouth following, his tongue tracing patterns on each exposed inch of her chest. He pulls back to tug it off but is hindered by her gauntlets (she'd help him but full dexterity feels like a little too much to ask of her right now) so he settles for shoving it out of the way and pulling her tank top down and exposing her breasts.

Her fingers are tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he tortures her with the lightest touch of his tongue against her nipple.

"More." She whimpers desperately and her voice seems to break whatever vestige of self-control he had left. He groans against her breast before biting down just this side of painful on the soft curve below her nipple, his tongue soothing the sting as he traces the mark of his teeth. The ravenous way he devours her reminds her of that first day, so long ago now, the way he could not keep his gaze from her cleavage as she questioned him. The first moment she felt that spark, that awareness of him that has never truly left her.

 

There is an awkward pause as they are finally forced to face the next reality of being enemy agents hooking up in a storage closet on mission: tactical gear is not exactly designed for quick access. Or at least, her's isn't. He seems to have opted simply for the bad boy chic look with jeans and a leather jacket over a t-shirt, all of which he slips off easily. Getting her naked requires a fair amount of effort, and trying to do it in complete darkness just leads to frustration and minor injury (she didn't realize his face was that close to her elbow ok?)

It breaks the tension of the moment though, as she gets over the shock of her bones connecting with his and takes stock of the situation (one boot off, her gauntlets finally removed, the top half of her uniform and her tank top, and bra gone and her pants undone and dragged halfway down her ass, holster still attached to her thigh) she can't stop the short bubble of laughter that finally erupts. Luckily he can see the humor in the situation too, chuckling with her as he comes closer (his hands running along her arms to her shoulders, making certain where she is and hoping to prevent further injury). When he kisses her this time she doesn't fight the sweetness behind it, both of them smiling still into the kiss, mouths open wide and his hands cupping her face and she can feel the laughter in her skin. The euphoria of her afterglow mixed in with the sudden shock of the tension being broken, she gives herself over to the moment totally. She feels lighter than she has in years. (She feels like Skye again, that girl with hopes and dreams that hadn't been crushed by the world yet. Like that rookie agent who teased her SO and got butterflies when he smiled gently at her as he touched her shoulder.)

 

He lays her down gently on his jacket, kissing his way down her chest, down her stomach, as he slides his hands down to remove her other boot, to unbuckle her holster. (She should feel more nervous about this right? Being disarmed by her enemy like this? But all she wants is his hands on her body. And oh, how he obliges.)

His fingers hook into the waist of her pants, sliding them slowly the rest of the way down her thighs. He kisses her hip bone, her thighs, her knees, his stubble scraping in the lightest pleasure-pain as he moves along her skin. He holds her ankle up as he slides her foot free from the pants at last, his mouth moving against the jut of bone, biting lightly, holding firm as she squirms to get away at the tickling sensation before sinking back down with her leg hooked over her shoulder.

He presses open mouthed kisses against her inner thighs as he works his way higher, his hands holding firm on her hips to still her squirming. She still bucks her hips at the shock of the first swipe of his tongue against her though, and she can feel him smirk against her before he takes her clit between into his mouth and sucks hard.

Her entire world shrinks down to just the feel of his mouth against her, his tongue flat as he licks against the full length of her, then flicking lightly against her clit as she whimpers, moans as he fucks her with his mouth. Her hands grab helplessly at his hair and she's not sure if she is trying to push him away or pull him closer. His tongue is tracing figure-8s against her clit now and she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood. She feels another gush of wetness as she clenches helplessly against nothing, the pressure building in her delicious but just not enough. As though he can read her mind, one hand drifts down, stroking gently against her outer thigh before moving between them, a thick finger sliding inside her once again. The pace is torturous, he is pumping his finger inside her to a steady slow beat as his tongue works her to a frenzy, as she helplessly tries to rock her hips against him, held in place by the iron grip of one arm still banded across her hips.

She can feel the tremors beneath her skin, trying to escape. The slight shiver of the ground below her reminds her to try to get herself under control before she brings the whole building down around them (she feels fairly certain that might alert the bad guys to their presence.)

 

She is so close when she stops him, dragging his face back up to hers. She needs to feel him inside her now. He kisses her ravenously, like she is an oasis and he has been lost in the desert for years, his mouth hot and sticky and tasting of her. Her hands clutching at his shoulders, clawing at the muscles on his back as he rolls his hips against hers. The frisson of heat that radiates through her feels like nothing more than throwing gasoline on an open flame as she reaches down desperately to shove his briefs, the last layer between them, down his hips. She wraps her hand around his cock as it springs free, relishing in the groan he tries to muffle against her throat. She has only just begun to stroke him lightly when suddenly he is rolling them so she sits astride him, his hands resting on her hips before moving tenderly up her sides, tracing his fingertips against her ribs; reading her body like braille in the darkness. Sliding back down to grip her hips again as he lifts her lightly as she positions him at her entrance. She sinks down slowly, relishing in the stretch of her body as she adjusts to him. (She tries not to notice how right this feels, how perfectly their bodies fit together, how long she has been waiting for this.)

It starts slow and gentle, rolling her hips deliberately against him, her head falling back as she loses herself in the soft waves of pleasure that envelop her. His hands are moving back up from her hips again to cup her breasts, his thumb brushing against one of nipples, causing her hips to jerk against him more roughly, dragging a helpless moan from both of them. She falls forward, her hands braced against his chest, her fingers clenching into fists as he grips her hips hard and pumps his into hers, harder now, faster. The room is filled with the sounds of their harsh breaths and the smack of their bodies colliding roughly. She can feel the pressure building once again, heat circulating in her veins as she claws at his chest and gives herself over to the feelings entirely, until there is nothing left in the world but he and her and the sensations their bodies can draw from one another.

Her orgasm washes over her in waves, the heat in her rising and crashing as the moans coming from both of them reach a crescendo. Her pulse is hammering and every single part of her body is tingling as she comes down, Ward following her with a muffled hoarse shout moments later.

 

There are no words in the aftermath. Both of them too exhausted and still too shocked by what just happened as reality begins to sink back in again, so to speak. She knows they are going to have to leave this room eventually, she will go back to the Good Guys and he will go back to being the villain. There is no way that this can happen again (but there was no way this could have happened at all.) This is just a moment outside of time, a break from the real world and all of the things that make the distance between them so impossible to bridge.

But she can't bear to leave the calm she feels laying in his arms just yet. His hands stroking light patterns against her back, his heartbeat thumping beneath her ear, lulling her into somewhere between awake and asleep. This is the closest she has felt to peace in so long and the idea of walking out of this room and back out into their harsh reality is something she can't quite comprehend in this moment. So she will lay here just a little longer, imagine a world where everything she might want if she ever let herself think about it is possible, live this dream just a little while more.


End file.
